"I am now going to ask you what I have never dared to do before. Would you mind telling me why you married Mrs. Chandos?"
"I married her," he answered, "chiefly to pay my cousin's debts. He was deeply involved in her father's books. I had backed his bills; he deserted me and went home; I remained to face dishonour. Miss Lopez, the money-lender's daughter, was good enough to like me. Her father offered to release me, if I would make her my wife, and I did"—here an involuntary sigh escaped him—"for between that and ruin I had no alternative. Pussy is a good girl; you will be kind to her, I know; somehow I don't think you and Dominga ever had much in common. Your aunt has written out for you, I saw her last letter and telegram—what date does she name?"
"The fifteenth of October, but I can put it off; I will wait until you feel ready to come home. Even if you do return here—surely you should see Charne? Yes, and show it to me, and wind up all your affairs."
"I will think it over, Verona; somehow when you talk to me, I feel inspired with hope and courage. I have not been home for twenty-nine years—to return has always been my dream! Well, my dear, I will sleep on your advice!"
The next morning a servant coming in early to sweep and dust the room, discovered his master still sitting in his arm-chair—asleep, with a beautiful smile upon his face—the smile of one who was happy. Mindoo had never yet seen the Sahib's expression so serene. But why was he so still—so quiet?
The question was readily answered—Mr. Chandos had gone home.
CHAPTER XLII
The difficulties in the path of his true love had but increased Jimmy Fielder's interest in Dominga—now that Dom was unattainable, she appeared to be almost indispensable to his happiness. He had been bored to death in the Terai, and bitten by the most ferocious of insects, grilled alive and half starved, all for one mangy tiger skin! He had been equally bored on a hill station; none of the girls were half as amusing as Dom—poor Dom, who was breaking her heart for him on the dim blue plains far below. Now and then he strolled to a certain point and gazed down, and thought of that sparkling face, those ruddy locks, that lithe form and nimble tongue—the recollection of those days was still sharp and vivid. Then came an unexpected summons home, which blurred the vision. His father had tendered the olive branch and a handsome cheque; Lord Highstreet was failing fast, and his son, for his part, was now thoroughly sick of India. Captain Fielder hurried to Rajahpore in order to settle up, collect his belongings and say good-bye to the regiment and the Service. He must also say good-bye to Dom! She had made the memory of his stay on the plains a joy for ever, and he would send her a jolly present from Streeter's, as soon as he got home. Of course he had heard of the death of Mr. Chandos, and he was aware that the family had been in some mysterious trouble; the victoria, full of gay cushions, no longer waited under a certain tree near the club, nor were there any more letters to be found in "Two Kisses."
Captain Fielder had already secured his passage and paid his farewell calls; the station was almost empty, the ladies were in the hills. He was an idle man, and Fate finds some mischief still for idle men to do! Inspired by Fate, he made up his mind to drive out to Manora, in broad daylight, and interview Dom, and see if his memory had not flattered her too much.
Captain Fielder was ushered into the drawing-room, and then in another moment she had flown to him, gasping and sobbing with joy and astonishment. She clung to his neck, her sweet breath (a peculiarity of Eurasians) fanning his cheek, her glorious hair falling back, her eyes gazing into his own. He succumbed at once to her spell, her wonderful seduction—her, for him, fearful fascination. Oh, why was she not a lady? and one he could marry and take home, for Dom was so entirely to his taste; ever the same, yet never boring him.